The Black Ice Score

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Parker walked into his hotel room, and there was a guy in there going through his suitcase laid out on his bed. He looked over when Parker came in and calmly said, “That’ll be all right.” He had some kind of accent.

And he hadn’t been talking to Parker. Parker looked behind himself, and number two was shutting the door. Number three was to the left, over by the window; he was the only one with hardware showing, an automatic held negligently in his right hand pointed nowhere in particular.

The faces were all strangers. They were all about forty, tall, in good physical condition, well dressed, deeply tanned. They might be law, but they didn’t smell like it. They smelled like something new, something Parker didn’t know anything about.

He said, “Where’s the woman?” because Claire was supposed to be in here; she was here when he’d gone out, and he didn’t like the idea of her being around guns.

The one at the suitcase nodded his head toward the closed bathroom door. “In there,” he said. “On a promise of good behavior.”

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